


Flowers

by Pastel_Teacups



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Teacups/pseuds/Pastel_Teacups
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac doesn't know how to ask Jehan out. He decides on flowers. Quite a bit of them, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers

Courfeyrac may have been able to woo anybody he wanted into his bed, but he was absolutely clueless when it came to trying to ask adorable blonde poets out on a real date. 

He’d always been easy with women, natural even, and he could get a lady into bed with a bat of his eyelashes and a well-placed comment. But, with Jehan, everything was different.

He was, in every possible and knowable way, beautiful. His long blonde hair often fell out of its braid and into his green eyes, which shone brighter than anything else in the room. He was pale and lovely, and when he was close one could smell his shampoo and flowers. His fashion sense was odd yet somehow worked, and consisted mostly of skinny jeans and large pastel-colored sweaters. 

And his personality was better than anyone could ever hope for. 

He was kind and bubbly, constantly hugging or kissing someone on the cheek, and with the Amis he seemed to have no concept of personal space at all, often found cuddling or even falling asleep on his friends. However, nobody minded. 

Though Jehan didn’t know it, and never tried to use it, he had the entire group wrapped around his finger. They were all willing to bend over backwards to keep him happy, even stony Enjolras. They’d all seen Jehan sad exactly one time, and vowed to never let it happen again. It was absolutely pathetic and heartbreaking. 

There were some days when he would enter the back room of the Musain with a frustrated pout settled over his features, of course. He’s stomp around a bit and mumble, but somebody would later offer him a chair and a cup of tea, and his beautiful smile would make its return in minutes. 

Really, it only took a few hours with the young poet for Courfeyrac to realize how utterly in _love_ he was with Jehan. 

However, he had no idea how he was going to go about proceeding. 

Really, it was Combeferre who helped him. 

He didn’t need to bother with telling the other about his crush (okay, infatuation). They’d been best friends for so long they could have entire conversations with a simple flick of their eyes. So, when Combeferre approached him with the topic, he wasn’t surprised. 

“You like him, don’t you?” The bespectacled boy said quietly, after Enjolras had drawn their meeting to a close, nodding in the direction of Jehan. He was talking animatedly to Grantaire as he gathered his bag, shoving poetry book after poetry book into the stuffed thing. Even Grantaire was smiling along with him, despite his usually pessimistic air. Truly, it was magic when one could turn a cynic into a smiler. One of Jehan’s many talents. 

Courfeyrac decided to play stupid for once and shrugged, busying himself with collecting papers from the table. “Of course. Everybody likes him. It’s impossible not to, really.” 

“I mean _like him,_ like him.” 

“What are we, five?” Courfeyrac asked, hopelessly trying to change the subject as he quite literally shuffled papers. 

“Shut up,” The other said sharply, leaning over the disgruntled student. “Now, tell me the plan.”

“Plan?” Courfeyrac quirked an eyebrow, spinning in his chair. “What plan?” 

“Quit playing stupid, Courf. It doesn’t suit you. Every time you try to court a lady, you have a plan of action.”

“Do I?” 

He _so_ did. 

“You so do, Courf. I’ve seen it in action.” 

Courfeyrac stared at Combeferre for a long moment, before trying to make a run for it. He scooped up his bag and made a beeline for the door, Combeferre hot on his trail. 

“You don’t have a plan?” The other asked, managing to shoulder his bag and keep his glasses from slipping down the bridge of his nose in one fluid movement. “Wow. You must _really_ like him, if you haven’t come up with a plan yet.”

“Leave it, Ferre.” He warned, shaking his head as he ducked out of the Musain and down the street, moving desperately away from the bespectacled man. However, he caught up breathlessly. 

“Okay, so, instead of cultivating a sub-par plan that’s no better than a glass of wine and a few cheesy pick-ups, you could just talk to him.” 

“Talk to him?” 

“Yeah.”

“No.” 

Combeferre groaned, pushing his ever-slipping glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Why not? Jehan’s literally the most approachable person in the Amis.” 

“That’s not true.” Courfeyrac argued, turning another corner. 

“Enjolras is terrifying, you’re creepy, just a bit, I’m nerdy, Joly’s paranoid, Grantaire’s drunk, Marius is sickeningly in love, and the rest. . . well, I don’t know. But you know I’m right. Jehan’s a flower, we’re all dirt. He’s what makes us tolerable.” 

Courfeyrac couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “How very poetic.” 

“Thank you.” He replied, only growing silent for a moment before he added one more suggestion before they parted ways. 

“I mean it, Courf. Buy him some flowers or something and talk to him. How could he not like you?” 

With that, Combeferre left, giving his friend a meaningful glance. 

Flowers. It wasn’t a bad idea, thought Courfeyrac as he unlocked the door to his small flat. He’d seen Jehan tucking flowers into his long, braided hair more than once. Maybe he’d like an arrangement.   
\--  
When Jehan stepped into the Musain next week, smiling along with a somewhat twitchy Joly, he found the Amis, save for Enjolras and Courfeyrac, crowded around the table. They were all oohing and ahhing, and Jehan had to abandon Joly in the back when somebody tugged him forward. 

There, sitting innocently enough on the table, was a glass vase filled with beautiful flowers that Courfeyrac concluded didn’t smell as good as their new owner. He concluded this silently of course, sitting beside a fuming Enjolras (they’d delayed the meeting for _this?_ )

“There’s a note in there, too.” Eponine shrugged, pushing Jehan towards the flowers. “We already read it. They’re for you.” 

Jehan raised an eyebrow, tugging a pastel pink sweater sleeve up to pluck the card from where it was nestled between roses and pink baby’s breath. 

In scrawled writing was the note, which the poet didn’t bother hiding behind his hand. With friends like his, nothing was sacred. 

_Jehan,_

_These flowers won’t do you justice. But they’re the best I could find._

_-Courf_

Jehan glanced up at the brunette, much like everyone else, with a blush on his face. Everyone waited in uneasy anticipation, but Enjolras chose right then to stand up and start the meeting. Everyone was quite displeased, and they showed it by nearly throwing themselves into chairs and grumbling obscenities at their dedicated leader. Jehan only smiled and settled into a chair, the tiny card held between his long fingers. 

Everybody sat obediently through the meeting, though when Combeferre dismissed the lot of them, more than a few people stuck around to see what would happen. Combeferre was among them, along with Eponine, Marius, Joly, and Grantaire. They all seemed to tug Courfeyrac along with their eyes, and he finally stood. 

He did his best to be seem calm as he approached the poet, who was gathering his bag and trying to figure out just how he was going to carry the vase of flowers home. Courfeyrac cleared his throat and Jehan startled, stepping back to smile warmly just a moment later. “Oh, Courfeyrac. You scared me.” 

He laughed breezily, and Courfeyrac couldn’t help but laugh, too, even if his heart was hammering in his chest. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to, you know.”

Jehan felt another blush rise to his face and looked down, a stray piece of blonde hair falling into his eyes. “Yeah, no, it’s fine, really.” 

Courfeyrac nodded, biting his lip. “So, did you like the flowers?” 

Jehan allowed his small smile to turn into a downright grin. “I love them.” He looked up, and Courfeyrac caught a glimpse of his bright green eyes between his mussed blonde hair. “Really. They’re beautiful.” 

Courfeyrac smiled nervously and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Good. I’m glad you liked them.” 

They stood for a moment, and Jehan tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “I have no idea how I’m going to get them back to my flat, though.” 

Courfeyrac was stuck for a moment ( _the human form of buffering,_ Combeferre though from his place by the door), before he got an idea. “Oh, I could take them to your place, if you’d like.” 

Jehan ducked his head, hiding his blush. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to trouble you.” 

“It’s totally fine. I don’t have anything to do after this, anyways. And it’d get some prying eyes off of us.” He directed a pointed glare towards the door, causing several people to skitter around for a few seconds, looking away. 

Jehan glanced up at him and looked down again, his blush only growing. “Right, that too. We could use some privacy.” 

Courfeyrac shouldered his bag and waited for Jehan to finish gathering his things. “Ready?” 

The smaller man nodded and smiled, his eyes bright. Courfeyrac returned the smile nervously and picked the vase up, the bouquet nearly obscuring his view. 

Jehan’s small smile lingered as they walked out the door, the remaining Amis members tried to make themselves look busy and as if they hadn’t just been completely eavesdropping. 

Courfeyrac led them out into the suddenly cold air and Jehan shivered, tugging the sleeves of his sweater down. “It’s getting colder,” He said softly, silently cursing himself. Of _course_ it was getting colder. 

Courfeyrac hadn’t noticed Jehan’s inward panic, too focused on his own. “Yeah, is it.” 

They walked in silence for a while, Courfeyrac trusting Jehan to lead him the correct way. After a long few minutes, the poet spoke. 

“Why did you buy me flowers, Courfeyrac?” 

The man glanced around the flowers at Jehan. Had he simply looked up, he would have been able to to see just how in love Courfeyrac was with him. But, he didn’t. 

“Because I like you.” He replied simply, readjusting his hold on the flowers. 

Jehan nodded slightly, thinking. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet. “You’ve liked a lot of people before.” 

It took him just a moment to realize just what he meant. “No.” The brunette replied quickly, shaking his head. “No. It’s not like that. I mean, yeah, but that’s not just what I want. I want to date you, Jehan. Not just sleep with you.” 

The younger ducked his head, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Are you asking me out on a date?” 

Courfeyrac stopped, nearly dropping the flowers. He managed to set them on a cafe table, sighing softly. 

“Well, I would’ve liked it to be a bit more romantic.” 

Jehan stopped walking, too, and giggled. “Okay, have it your way.” 

Courfeyrac thought a mere moment, before tugging a pink flower from the bouquet and getting onto one knee. “Jehan Prouvaire, would you do me the honor of having dinner with me?” 

The blonde laughed, nodding softly. “Fair enough, Monsieur. I’ll have dinner with you.” 

Courfeyrac grinned and stood, lifting a hand to tuck the flower behind Jehan’s ear. “Good.” 

His blush only seemed to grow, and he smiled shyly at his feet. “Come on, then. My flat’s only a few more blocks.” 

Courfeyrac grinner and burdened himself with the vase again, managing to keep it from shattering. Jehan only smiled serenely, the slight curl of his lips forever present. They walked the remaining three blocks, before they entered a building and climbed four flights of stairs. 

“Don’t you have an elevator?” Courfeyrac huffed, struggling up the stairs with the glass vase. Jehan shrugged softly and tugged at the sleeves of his soft sweater. 

“Well, sort of.” He said quietly, finally stopping at level four and and unlocking a door. “It doesn’t work well. I got stuck in it, once.” He shuddered softly at the thought, pushing his door open. 

He couldn’t see much of the flat until Jehan guided him to a table and he set down the flowers, leaning back against it and opening his eyes to the poet’s flat. 

It was ordinary, a tiny living room and open kitchen with light yellow walls. Painted over it were vines of green, small pink flowers around the edges of them. It was clearly one of Grantaire’s works, and it made the brunette smile at the thought of a paint-covered Grantaire in such a setting. He’d never seen the drunk’s art before, but the wall made him want to. 

“This is a nice place.” Courfeyrac commented lightly, glancing over at three very healthy-looking plants in the window. It was hard to keep such plants in a flat, but it was apparently possible. 

“Thank you.” Jehan said, leaning back against the wall. “Can I get you anything? I have a bottle of wine. Or some tea?” 

Courfeyrac shook his head, straightening.”No, thanks. I should probably get going.” 

Jehan smiled softly, nodding. “Right. It’s getting late.” 

“Yeah. But we will have dinner. Are you free tomorrow night?” 

He was standing in front of Jehan now, and the smaller had to look up at Courfeyrac. “I happen to be, yes.” He said, watching the brunette through his blonde eyelashes. 

“Good. I’ll pick you up at seven.” Courfeyrac said, smiling softly. 

Jehan nodded softly and, without a word, moved up on his toes to kiss Courfeyrac softly on the lips. 

He was far too stunned to do much of anything, and Jehan giggled as he pushed the man gently out the door. “I’ll see you at seven!” 

Courfeyrac spun around just in time to catch one last glimpse of Jehan. The flower was still in his hair, but his braid was also still messy and careless. A pink blush had settled over his cheeks, the color vaguely matching his light pink sweater. The sweater itself hung loosely off one shoulder, displaying his pale skin. 

He was, in a word, gorgeous. 

Then, Jehan closed the door and leaned against it on the other side, smiling happily. 

This would be fun.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I might continue it, but I'm not sure. What do you guys think? Let me know!


End file.
